


Parallels

by Tat_Tat



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Animal Abuse, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Demonic Possession, Dissection, F/M, Guro, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2565950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tat_Tat/pseuds/Tat_Tat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s obstinate, like the Mabel he is familiar with. He knows she won’t break easily and his smile is dark, eyes bright with intrigue. He likes a good challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A Reverse Dipper/Mabel story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no Guro in this chapter. Other warnings may apply though. Guro is in chapter two.

Dipper knew that making a contract with a demon and drawing on its powers could change a person. He saw it in his sister, her cold demeanor and their frayed relationship. He is constantly walking on eggshells, trying to appease and yet reason with her, and greater still, battling a deep fear of her. 

He missed who she once was, and she and he both saw her past self in the girl who was also named Mabel, who was a different version of her. One who did not make deals with demons, and smiled warmly.

It was undeniably the reason why his sister was apprehensive about him being in the same room with the girl. 

She is afraid of losing him.

Unaware that he lost her. A long time ago.

The girl tied up backstage shifts restlessly in the plastic fold-out chair. She doesn't take to being still, just as she can't keep quiet, a ballgag held firmly in place. She's obstinate, like the Mabel he is familiar with. He knows she won't break easily and his smile is dark, eyes bright with intrigue. 

He likes a good challenge and he's grateful that his sister is preoccupied by that twerp Gideon and the poor imitation of himself. He pulls his gloves off before cupping Mabel's cheek. She's soft, and her eyes are wide and fearful. 

He kisses her on the cheek softly. He can take his time. He has time. To run his hands through her hair and leave trails of tender kisses on her eyelids, and then, across her neck. Her jugular pulses against his lips and he thinks about slitting her throat open, beautiful ruby red spilling over the front of her sweater.

He looks at the sweater and frowns. Not at the kitschy homemade design of a heart with googly eyes, but that it's in his way. In his back pocket is a dagger he swiftly secures. Mabel's eyes widen. The kisses he gave her earlier quelled her but she's in a panic again seeing the blade flash under bright stage lights.

Dipper's expression is unchanging, he looks like a sullen doctor about to tell a patient they have six months to live. He moves slowly and deliberately, soaking in how delicate and scared she is. He presses the tip of the dagger to her throat, only pricking the skin. She expects more and screams against the gag. She's shivering as he draws the dagger away a few inches and lowers it to her sweater, not hesitating to rip it in two, followed by her bra. Her breasts spill out and she squirms, blushing, unable to cover herself. The rope is firm around her wrists.

"You're going to have such beautiful marks." His southern drawl is as heavy and slow as dark molasses. He is referring to the rope marks she will have later and is tickled to see tears in her eyes. No doubt she mistook the remark for something much more than red grooved marks around her wrists and ankles.

Dipper doesn't tell her he doesn't want to dismantle her so soon. He plans to break her, but not beyond repair. He wants to play with her again. They have just started and he's already coming up with plans for next time. 

For now, he tucks the dagger away and steps back, arms folded across his chest, admiring her pale flush skin, bare to him. Only him. There is a biting thought as he thinks about his actual sister, who flirts with boys. He's probably not the only one who has seen her naked and that always got to him. 

This Mabel is new and untarnished. He doesn't know her history so he fills in the blanks with things he wants to see. He doesn't realize yet that he's forcing an idea of what he wants his own Mabel to be: her old self. He doesn't mind her murderous streak or her possessiveness. 

He does mind that she has other men at her disposal, perhaps himself included. He liked to have thought he was different but lately he's not so sure. . .

Dipper bites his cheek, dispersing those thoughts to concentrate on what he has right now. He steps forward, and she watches him. He’s pleased that beneath the tenacity and fear there is something else. Some part of her desires this.

Standing, towering over her, he touches her breasts. She moans against the ball gag, sinking into the touch, leaning into his palms. Without thinking she grinds against the chair. Maybe before she planned to fight him. If she had those plans dissipated. 

“If you keep quiet I’ll take the gag off.” Dipper kneels in front of her. “I want to kiss you.”

Their eyes lock, and she pauses because she’s not sure if she can keep such a promise. But she wants to. She wants to kiss him more than anything so she nods and hopes she can do it. 

Dipper’s fingers run over her cheeks, leading up to the clasp behind her head. It snaps open and the ball gag falls out of her mouth, swathed with drool. Mabel gasps like a fish out of water, Dipper wipes the drool from the side of her mouth with a silver kerchief and tucks it in his back pocket next to the dagger. His hands return to swim in her long brown hair, and he kisses her before she has a chance to speak. He feels her bend to his will, moaning in the kiss. The rush of power is unlike anything he’s ever felt and he craves more, rolling her skirt up. Like her sweater before, her panties are in the way. 

This time, when he pulls the dagger out she doesn’t flinch. He hates that. He reminds her that lowering her guard will cost her, slicing papercut-thin slices into her thighs. Red wells up from the tiny wounds. Her legs are shaking, and when he hooks the blade around her underwear he’s pleased that she holds her breath. 

“You’re wet,” he confirms, pressing the hilt of the dagger against her clit.

“Doi. You’re like, doing a lotta cray cray hot and dangerous stuff, Not-Quite-Bro.”

“Did I tell you to speak, dear sister?” His glare is cold and penetrating. 

She opens her mouth.

“It wasn’t a question.” He interrupts sharply, and stabs the table nearby, the dagger standing ramrod straight, the handle drenched with her juices. Mabel bites her lip, staring at it. She feels uneasy, like she did when Gideon courted her. It’s not that she has trouble saying no. The problem is she doesn’t want to say no. 

“Don’t do it again,” he advises, and though he feels she doesn’t deserve it he kisses her mound, the downy curls slick. Dipper takes in her musky, salty scent and tentatively licks her, eyes raised, watching her reaction. Her eyes flutter, hips raising up to press his mouth closer to her. The chair she’s tied to shifts.

“Careful.” He laughs. For the first time since he can remember the sound is warm, not hollow nor calculating. 

Dipper wipes his mouth and stands again. He tilts her chin up to meet his eyes, “Do you want me?”

She’s tied to the chair and he’s already expressed that no matter what she says, he will get what he wants. He doesn’t ask out of compassion, and when she nods, that surge of power courses through him again. 

He unties her from the chair but keeps her wrists bound together. He's careful when he picks her up and sets her on a unfurled stage curtain. He can't help but smile watching her wiggle against the soft red velvet. She blushes, realizing he's watching her, and her face fumes as he firmly takes her right leg and guides it over his shoulder. 

'We're really doing this, huh?' her face seems to say and Dipper chuckles. If his counterpart is careful as he is, this is the closest this Mabel has come to doing anything with him. That's the difference between their caution. Goody Two-Shoes Dipper is afraid of the social consequences. As for himself, he never hesitated to kiss his own sister, caught up in the moment, apathetic to the opinions of sheep. He knows when to exercise caution, and that is exactly why he never touched Mabel Pines until he was absolutely sure they wouldn't be caught. 

He unzips his pants, and he can feel her watching him as he pulls out his cock. She bites her lip, eyes large and as sparkly as her chipped fingernail polish. She's resisting the urge to make a joke, he can feel it. It's strange that he's picked up her habits so quickly.

"If you talk, I'll stop," he warns.

He presses himself against her, and he planned on teasing her but god. God. Fucking. Dammit. She feels so good. He slips inside of her, and to finally feel her warmth is a relief. He exhales, eyes glazed. 

The leg over his shoulder curves around him, the other around his waist. She's unable to use her hands to raise her body up to meet his and makes the most of it. He appreciates her eagerness, gripping her hips so she doesn't have to strain herself. 

"D-" she mouths, then catches herself. She flinches slightly under his gaze, afraid he'll stop. 

He doesn't. He thrusts deeper inside her; her breath hitches. Her face cross with pain and pleasure. Her nails dig into her palms, and her cries reverberate around the stage: a cacophony of pure, uninhibited bliss. His own moans are low and guttural. Only she can hear him. She wants to point out that he looks silly- hot and silly- with his upper lip raised and eyes far away, looking at her and also nothing. He leans forward and kisses her hard and bites her bottom lip even harder. 

She thinks she can taste blood, and the thought passes when he hits that spot. Wowee, she hopes she doesn't shatter his eardrums or something but he doesn't seem to mind, especially because she's tightening around him. 

He makes a sound like the breath just got knocked out of him, his pace waning, but thrusting deeper inside of her until he presses his forehead against her chest, catching his breath.

They lay there in hot and sweaty silence. Mabel notes that for once this Dipper doesn't look diabolical. Cuddly as a lamb, strands of his slicked back hair fallen out of place, brushing the birthmark on his forehead. She can taste the salt in the air. She can feel his sweat against her own skin. She's eager to continue but according to "Hot and Dangerous" Dipper they're out of time. He reluctantly cleans her up and dresses her in a blue sequined dress off the dressing room rack. 

They are just in time when his Mabel storms into the room, her stockings and shoes sopping wet, leaving behind a trail of blood.

"They got away," she simply says, eyes briefly going over the two, slamming more doors and flicking her wrist in the direction the shower.

Dipper and the other Mabel turn to each other, shrugging their shoulders slightly. He doesn't notice that they're mimicking each other already, or that when he holds her fingers gently and squeezes that it feels right and alive. 

They both frown when he pulls away to meet his Mabel in the shower.

She's waiting for him.


	2. Gardenias and Rabbits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prequel of sorts to previous chapter. Mostly because I wanted to write guro.

Dipper was always curious.

It started when he was seven and took apart kitchen appliances just to see how they worked. He seldom put them back together, soon restless and bored. His mom hated that, back when he and Mabel still lived in California, before their parents knew what they were capable of. 

Dismantling machines was a start, but dull. They were cold and gave no reaction, just as detached as he was. He hungered for something that felt, searching perhaps for what he lacked, and moved onto dissecting animals. He slung rocks at dogs and squirrels, knocking them out, then taking them apart. He left them as they were, bleeding into the cement. He didn’t hold himself back either when his eyes set on Mabel’s pet canary.

The yellow bird was still squirming in the cake pan he had stolen from their mom’s cabinet, rattling the rusted nickel needles that held its skin apart. Dipper could see its tiny heart rattling against its rib cage. The bones were ivory and teeny tiny, like floss stained with a little blood. Dipper always thought it was remarkable how the body sometimes didn’t bleed out from major wounds. But if not from the injury, then from the trauma, the bird would pass. Its movements were petering out, its wings barely rustling.

“What are you doing?” Mabel surprised him, looking over his shoulder.

“Just taking a peek, dear sister,” he reassured coldly. He started for the black twine and sewing needle, not out of guilt but because he had also torn up Mabel’s dolls before and wasn’t interested in facing those consequences again.

Mabel’s hand rested on his shoulder. “He looks better this way.”

X

Dipper didn’t pick apart animals anymore-- at least, not beings that were recognized scientifically as fauna. His study was decorated with rows upon rows of foreign parts floating in jars of formaldehyde: sasquatch hearts, a centipede the size of a house cat, and a housecat the size of a fly. Standing to the right of him was a merperson sliced cleanly in half and encased in glass. On the wall behind his desk was a bulletin board-sized display case housing a Mothman and a bat the size of a mountain lion, their wings pinned to the wall. It was the first thing one would see when entering the room. Some of his projects were added to the Tent of Telepathy sideshow. A recent addition was the stuffed Multi-Bear. Mabel had begrudgingly agreed to it after openly criticizing his taxidermy skills.

“Why didn’t you ask me to do it?” she had asked, offended.

He didn’t tell her it was because he didn’t want it either covered in sequins or skinned. Mabel was a wild card who only went one way or the other; there was no in-between. Dipper was sure he was the only one who really knew his sister. He would never tell her he thought she was predictable, unaware that he was the predictable one, that Mabel was always three steps ahead of him. 

He did not hear Mabel enter his study, but he did sense the cold pull of energy she emitted. She smelled like wet moss and thunderstorms, and the kiss she pressed on his shoulder blade sent a crack of lightning through his body.

“Dear sister, it is uncommon for you to visit my study.” He set the scalpel aside, then peeled away his latex gloves, dripping with something sticky and mustard yellow. “And so late, too.”

“It’s difficult to sleep with those things screaming,” she said, motioning to the chimera and centaur. The bodies were stiff and cold; they had been dead for days. Dipper smiled, Mabel would never admit that she was lonely. Most times he teased her for it, but tonight the air was warm and crisp, like an autumn campfire. Her eyes were half-lidded and she wore a thin, teasing smirk on her red lips as her fingernails grazed the back of his neck. He could sense the warmth blooming inside her, and he felt it too, coiling in his gut.

He wiped his hands with a damp towel before rising up to meet her, taking her by the arm and kissing her softly on the cheeks, not out of meekness but for that dirty look she gave him after. She leaned forward for a proper kiss but he evaded and held her still, still holding her by the arm and leading her out of his study. They crossed the hallway to their bedroom. There were stained glass windows at the end of the hallway, featuring the symbol of a pentagram with an all-seeing eye in its center. Its pupil seemed to follow them but Dipper paid it no mind, used to its gaze. Mabel never seemed to notice it.

After closing the door behind them, Dipper couldn’t feel its gaze on him, Mabel pressed him against the door and he could only feel her. She had shucked off her robe immediately, her breasts warm against him. The ivory peignoir was the only thing she was wearing, hiding nothing about her body.

He palmed her breasts and kissed her again on the mouth, teasing her with with the softness of it. He felt her lips purse against his. 

“Harder,” she demanded, and pressed his backside against the wall again as she took his bottom lip between her teeth.

“Forgive me,” he whispered into the nape of her neck. “It’s entertaining to tease you.” He sunk his teeth into her neck before she could retort, her body sinking into his immediately, gasping and grasping the back of his shirt. She shivered when he released her, her knees buckling, but resisting the urge to fall. She continued to hold onto him, creating creases in his starched white shirt.

“Too hard?”

Mabel’s bangs were unruly, hanging in her eyes as she looked up at him, eyes glinting dark like black diamonds, catching onto his sarcasm. She said nothing, taking his hand and untying the front of her peignoir. Chiffon fabric slid off her shoulder blades and the cloth pooled around her on the floor. She pressed his index finger against her abdomen, guiding it slowly downwards, the nail scratching her skin. The action, even without his scalpel in hand, was familiar to Dipper.

“Have you ever wanted to take a peek into me, dear brother?”

Her eyes watched him, large and cat-like, glowing in the night. He swallowed, already imagining it.

“Yes.” He brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “All the time.”

“You can.” She produced a knife out of thin air and placed it in his hand. “Unless you’re a coward.” The handle was as heavy as her words.

He wrapped his hand around the emerald hilt and ran the blade along his fingertip. The blade was clean and sharp. His finger split. Instinctively he brought his finger to his mouth but Mabel stopped him, enveloping it with her mouth. She closed her eyes as she took in his finger. It burned slightly as she licked the wound but he did not flinch, his pants tenting in the front. 

“Keep doing that and I may forget your offer” Dipper said, pulling his hand, drenched with her saliva back.

“You taste bitter,” Mabel intoned, pulling towards the bed.

“You expected something else?”

“Sweeter, maybe.”

“Really?” Dipper raised his eyebrows in surprise, following her to the bed. He watched as she lay flat on her back, her long wavy hair fanned out and framing her face. She looked like a saint in a painting but Dipper knew better. She flashed him a devil’s smile, her teeth too perfect and straight and brilliant white.

“I thought you didn’t like sweets.” He said, wiping the dagger on the kerchief he had in his back pocket. They both knew it would be soiled sooner enough, but he wanted it clean. Old habit.

“I never said I was disappointed. Just surprised. Stop dawdling.”

“I’m not,” he said, kissing her on the lips. “You’re just impatient.” He pointed the knife at her navel and felt her flinch underneath him. They both watched as he ran the point carefully along her delicate stomach. She was holding her breath, heart pounding, and he was breathing hard. His heart was loud in his ears.

The blade was cold as it sunk into her. They were no longer watching it, but each other. Pain flashed across her beautiful face, the color draining from it. Dipper took in every detail and treasured how she gripped his arm and locked eyes with him in a staring contest, trying to mask the fear and pain. Her acting was good. It would fool others, but not him. She was blinking too much.

He glided the blade through careful and slow. He felt her breath hit his cheek. She did not scream, and he wasn’t sure if she was still pretending to feel nothing or that she was choking on her blood.

“You asked for this,” he reminded her, pulling the knife out with flourish before setting it on the nightstand. His clothes and the bed were soaked through, warm with freshly drawn blood. Glassy eyes watched him draw out needles from his vest pocket. He held two of them between his teeth. The other he used on her, parting the gap he had created and holding it steady with the needle, weaving it through the skin. Several were added after the first. She did not feel them prick through her skin, still swimming in adrenaline from the initial stab wound.

With her pale skin splayed out, he could finally take in a full view of her organs. Her small intestine was bunched up inside, pale and brown, like a length of sausage. Her insides warm, alive, and glistening. She was just as beautiful on the outside.

Curiosity lit his eyes, but unlike he had felt before. He had lost count at the times he heartlessly dissected metal and monsters, and human cadavers were nothing new to him. But gently tearing Mabel apart was different. There was a sense of intimacy between them as he sunk his hands deep inside his sister, clear fluids and blood clinging to his skin. Mabel had had several boyfriends and Dipper countless times questioned the fidelity of their emotional relationship. However, he knew she would never let another man inside her like he was now. He grimaced a little, thinking she was foolish to trust him.

He pulled his hands out and licked the blood off his fingers. “You taste sweet.” 

She smiled a little at that and her eyes closed. She emitted a cold sigh. 

Dipper wiped his hands with his kerchief and searched the nightstand for the journal. He wasn’t used to cleaning up his messes, but he couldn’t run the Tent of Telepathy by himself. Mabel had said that the twins gimmick is what mostly sold the shows, the rest was their talent and a little black magic. 

He stopped midway, palm pressed against the front of the journal, and looked up. 

Mabel was still here. He could feel her aura radiating from her still body. He took the journal out for caution as he sat back down next to her, peering down at her skeptically. Souls usually vanished into thin air the instant death took the body. 

“Mabel,” he whispered, then jumped back, the needles shooting out from her body like buttons from a ripped shirt. The needles missed him by a hair stabbing the wallpaper, and leaving specks of blood.

The blood soaking his shirt and the bed underneath them lifted from the fabric and like a branch of rivers, interconnected, flowed back into Mabel. It was like watching time run backwards, the blood returning to her body, the skin pulling together and knitting seamlessly, her breath returning in one loud gasp. She jolted out of bed as if she had woken from a nightmare, sweat on her brow and holding her stomach where the the wound had been, now gone as if it never happened.

Time travel? Dipper thought. No. He shook his head, licking the air, tasting hot metal.

“How are you doing that?”

Mabel winked, still clutching her sides. “A lady has to keep her secrets.”

Dipper silently agreed. He had his own secrets. But he had played dumb with his question. He had long suspected that she was drawing her powers from a demon, ever since he caught her using telekinesis without the aid of her jeweled barrette. He had been waiting for a moment such as this, when she would give herself away, careless or too proud to contain her powers. He asked another question. 

“Why did you keep this a secret from me? Was that your insurance if I turned on you?”

“Are you implying you would betray me?”

“Oh, never, dear sister. I’m a gentleman. I would never backstab you. It’s polite to do these things face to face.”

She stared at him, a fox-like smile stretching her red lips. “Oh, you’re wretched, brother.”

“I do wonder,” he whispered, running his fingers over the expanse of her belly, “why you asked me to dissect you.”

Her hand met his, fingers knitting together. “I wanted to see what I was capable of.”

“You’re reckless.”

“No,” she corrected, “I am bold. You are too careful. You think too much.” Her hand pulled away from his and she left him to re-dress.

Dipper clutched the journal, already formulating plans of action in case she turned against him. Regeneration was only a tiny threat. An iron spear wreathed in gardenias and rabbit bones would take that away from her, followed by a cleansing fire. She would live on, tainted and immortal now through her demonic bond, but her ashes would rest in loam for centuries, until like a phoenix she could resurrect. By then she would be someone else’s problem. 

“You can never be too careful.”


	3. Blood and Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to coniferoussiblings for providing inspiration and motivation for this chapter!
> 
> This chapter works well with this playlist:  
> http://8tracks.com/purgataffeta/beyond-the-charter

“You want to summon a demon?” Mabel’s eyebrows shot up incredulously.

“Afraid, dear sister?” Dipper smirked, straightening his shirt cuffs. Mabel’s eyes flitted away from his stoic face, acting as if she hadn’t been surprised at all, and she continued to preen in front of the vanity mirror.

“I want to capture it and add it to my collection,” Dipper explained. “It would be an excellent addition to our show.”

“We don’t need more creatures.” 

“Ah yes. More ‘razzle dazzle.’”

Mabel frowned tightly at that. “When?” she asked briskly.

“Tonight. Midnight.”

Mabel capped off her mascara and rose from the vanity chair. She stopped mid-step and leaned sideways towards the mirror to quickly fluff her bangs. She followed Dipper to the edge of the stage and paused in front of him, staring, searching his face. But she could not read him. His mind was closed to her, igniting curiosity and suspicion.

The music trilled from the stage awaiting them, signaling their cue. Dipper presented his arm to her and she hooked her own around his. As they ascended up the stairs and the stage lights shone over them, blinding and white, the conversation was left behind, residing only in the recesses of their minds. All signs of such were masked with smiles toward the cheering crowd. Smiles that did not reach their dark eyes. 

X

Dipper’s pulse jumped in Mabel’s hand. He would not tell her but he was afraid. She wrapped her hand tighter around his, her red lips stretched into a feline grin. Without thinking -because she always did it- she ran her thumb over the raised keloid scar he wore in the palm of his hand. Her heart skipped when he returned the gesture along her own matching scar.

It was a promise they kept to themselves. 

If Mabel closed her eyes she could still remember it: the kitchen knife held between their closed hands, Dipper’s eyes looking into hers and she into him. Just as their hands were clenched around the blade, their other hand was also wrapped around the handle. 

They had both winced, hands shaking but resolve strong. 

“We were born together,” Dipper said.

“We die together,” Mabel promised.

In one quick motion they had pulled the blade free from their hands, like drawing a sword out of its sheath. Wetness formed between their palms, blood intermingling and twining around their arms like the red stripes of a candy cane. 

The attic smelled the same as that day many years ago: warm candle wax and frankincense with the aftertaste of copper pennies. The night was dark but the chalk circle in the floorboards illuminated the room, brighter than the candles planted in the floorboards. Just as before, and the time after, and always, Dipper sat across from her, the Journal at his side. He glanced over the pages for the fifth time, flexing his fingers nervously over the open page. 

“Are you trying to prove something?” Mabel asked knowingly. Though she teased him for being a coward and for being too careful she still loved him. She didn’t mean to push him-- too far at least.

Dipper glared, his intentions naked. “Quiet, sister.” After running over the incantation and precautions for the tenth time, he took her hand. He said it was out of necessity of the ceremony. It was truthfully for his own comfort-- and maybe for hers. 

His voice was barely a whisper as he started the incantation, closing his eyes, opening his mind, drawing symbols he had memorized from the journal and weaving them together. It was a chore initially but as his voice raised, his mind cleared completely, paving a path for their guest. His mouth was moving on its own, repeating the incantation like a curse, with the urgency of a prayer. His voice boomed, echoing all around them as the final words were pulled from deep inside his chest and out his mouth. 

The last thing he remembered was he couldn’t breathe, as if something had sucked all the air out of his lungs. In a split second he was conscious and breathing again. The first thing he saw was Mabel staring across at him. Smiling.

Her smile had a tendency to set people on edge. Her teeth were too perfect. Too white and straight. 

Dipper had never been affected by this. He loved her smile; however, in the darkness, the candles extinguished and smoke swirling in the air around her, he swallowed hard. The rest of her facial features were hidden in the dark. Only her smile was visible, hanging in the air like a crescent moon. 

“Mabel. . .” he whispered.

She opened her mouth and Dipper instantly covered his ears. The sound that clawed out of her throat was inhuman and reminded him of nails on chalkboard mixed with an infant crying. 

She stepped into the single beam of light that poured through the window. Her eyes were hollow and hungry. Underneath her, her shadow shifted, taking the shape of a pentagram. 

Instinctively, Dipper grabbed the book and reached into his back pocket. His hand closed around a sachet of salt and freshly chopped sage. Mabel’s hollow eyes narrowed at him. The walls rattled, seeming to growl.

She opened her mouth again, screeching static and infantile screams. Dipper clenched his teeth, hand shaking around the sachet. He wanted nothing more than to cover his ears, but the longer the demon resided within his sister, the more its presence would erode her soul until she was nothing more than an empty husk and willing puppet. He had intended to capture it in the silver bottle at his feet but his entire body was swimming in adrenaline and he forgot it. The scar in the palm of his hand itched. He needed to act now.

Arms shaking, ear drums ringing, he pulled open the sachet. He stared at Mabel but avoided her hollow eyes, trying his damnedest to clear his mind from fear and the sharp piercing screams blanketed by white noise. 

He formed a path in his mind. He thought of nothingness, and then, light. Burning. The gem in his bolo tie glowed and one by one the candles burst back to life. The emergency incantation was still fresh in his mind. The words were stilted as he struggled to bring them to life, as if something was trying to push those words back down his throat and bottle them with a cork. Unlike the summoning spell, the words did not leave him without thinking. He had to concentrate completely, conscious of every syllable that left his lips. The final word left his mouth and the room grew still, the candles bright and blue and tall as pillars licking the attic roof. 

Hurriedly, before he lost the momentum, Dipper hurled the burlap sachet of salt at Mabel. It connected to her chest and burst like a sandbag that had been packed too tight. Salt and sage fed the flames.

Mabel [It] stared at him, eyes empty but body pulsing with rage. It opened its mouth again and for the first time, it did not scream. It spoke. And once it did, Dipper wished it never had.

X

Dipper sat in stunned silence. Only minutes had passed after the presence had left. The candles waved lazily around them and Mabel’s body lay crumpled on the ground, her hair pooled around her, the teal gem in her barrette glowing softly like a firefly. 

He crawled towards her, tentatively reaching for her. She was warm and he finally felt safe as he pulled her into his arms tightly. 

He had tried to be bold. It was true what she'd said, that he was trying to puff out his chest and prove something. He was foolish. It had almost cost him the only person that made sense to him. Dipper normally didn’t have a shred of sympathy but Mabel was capable of drawing out emotions he didn’t know he had. He had almost lost both.

Mabel stirred in his arms, softly murmuring. “I had it.”

Dipper raised his brows and Mabel disentangled herself from his lap in a huff. “I had it.” She crossed her arms, shivering slightly, “I had it! It was ours!” Blood ran from her left nostril, interrupting the slur of admonishments. 

“The demon was a poor specimen,” Dipper lied, dabbing her upper lip with a indigo handkerchief. Mabel graciously took it, pinching her nose and tilting back her head. 

“You were so keen on it before.” 

“And you were not, dear sister. Why are you suddenly concerned?” 

They stared at each other in silence, Dipper worried and Mabel furious. 

Wryly, Mabel grinned. “More razzle dazzle?”

“More razzle dazzle.”


	4. The cold, the dark, and the silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this chapter along to this playlist:   
> http://8tracks.com/book-wyrm/it-s-too-quiet
> 
> Recommend listening to it while reading this chapter!

She heard their voices in the dark, like dark swirling clouds filtering into her thoughts. Dipper’s study was down the hall, soundproofed at her request, but she still heard the monsters cry in the dark. The voices were unintelligible, jagged inflections of emotion that sailed a current that few could hear. Dipper sometimes caught snatches of its ocean but Mabel heard all of it. She was a natural empath. Unfortunately.

It was a useful ability for manipulation, but otherwise a nuisance. There was such a thing as knowing too much. That was something Dipper could never understand.

Mabel breathed in deeply, closing her mind. It took all her concentration, and she didn’t look forward to waking up in the dead of night again to the shrill screams.

In her dreams Mabel revisted that night two weeks ago when she and her brother had summoned a demon. She felt the demon’s acidic energy twine around her like barbed wire, tighter and tighter until she snapped. 

It had touched her mind, but just as she was about to break, she tore through its mind. She was inside of it-- and she was winning. Its voice was thick like fog. It preyed at her greed and lied to her. Her grip had tightened and it choked on a mouth full of sand and sage. Salt and fire was burning through their connection.

“I am the watcher from the stars,” it said, imparting the impression of all its known names.

“You’ll be back,” it echoed as it drifted apart from her.

“How do you know?” she had huffed, annoyed that it had read her so easily.

X

She woke up again.

She shook her head of the screaming specters and took a long drink of water from the glass sitting on the nightstand.

Mabel clenched her fist. The dream had reminded her what it had felt like for just a moment to hold the demon, and to lose it just as quickly. The cold, glittering energy the demon left evaporated in the air, tasting like burnt plastic. Her flesh was warm and full of fire, pining for the bone chill of power that she had decided belonged to her.

She set the glass down, her hand pressed against the mahogany nightstand, conscious of the contents in its drawer. She didn’t sense Dipper nearby and the screams were louder than ever, so she dared to open the drawer.

The journal was heavy in her hands. She skimmed carefully. The pages were pale yellow and brittle like autumn leaves. She felt strange reading through it. She had held it before for her brother while he was tasked with something, or when she wanted to hold it out of reach and tease him. She may have caught a few stray words looking over his shoulder too. But this was the first time she had ever opened it, full of purpose and hanging on every word, waiting for what she was looking for.

Just as she was growing frustrated, she came across the right page. There was an illustration of the demon that took up the entire page, and though she knew it was just a drawing, she felt its singular eye stare back at her. The skin on the back of her neck prickled and she sucked in a breath, looking over the next page. Half the page was smeared with ink that played tricks on her eyes, and above that in tiny letters was the information she was looking for. It was simpler than she thought it would be. Dipper always made it look too complicated. She rummaged in the second drawer of the nightstand for her scrapbooking scissors, then carefully clipped out both pages. 

After returning the journal in the top drawer, Mabel wondered if she should wait. Her heart raced and her body swam with anticipation. She could almost taste the chemical smell of burnt plastic on her lips.

The night was surprisingly still young, meaning she had slept less than she thought. Any other night she would be bitter, storming into Dipper’s study, but tonight she was tentative and quiet as she walked down the hall past his room. She wore socks to muffle her footsteps, and her temple throbbed, head ringing with pleas for help and the dull taste of agony the creatures were experiencing. She blocked them out. She ignored their pain. She tore away the sensation of her stomach split open, organs exposed to the open air. Nothing to douse the pain. No pain killers or sleeping gas. Wide eyes staring up at Dipper who coldly looked on. . .

Her footing slipped and she pressed her side against the wall for balance. 

She waited until the cries and sensations ebbed, at least shortly. She had been hit all at once because they sensed her there and hoped she would help. She hobbled forwards, holding the wall, until everything became a dull murmur. 

Leaving the house, and into the woods, the second hand pain and cries faded and mixed with the sounds of life. Birds drowsily chirped in the dead of night. She heard hooved footsteps and pawed movements, soft rustling in the trees. Her head still throbbed, she was never free of the sounds of others, but this was a welcome retreat. The full moon shone over her figure and she felt like she was being watched.

She didn’t know where she was going, but when she found the place, a bare clearing in the otherwise crowded woods, she stopped. She picked up a twig and unfolded the stolen journal pages from her nightgown, drawing out the summoning circle. That part was familiar. She always drew magic symbols and summoning circles for Dipper since she was the artist. It was the technical part-- Dipper’s end-- that she was unsure of. She wanted this so much and somehow, somewhere inside of her she knew she could do it too. Like it was inevitable. Fate. Destiny. 

Or a promise.

The circle was complete, the candles lit. It was oddly silent. She stared around her. There was nothing. Just still air. There was a soft buzzing sound but she suspected that was her own mind creating white noise to soothe her, to mask the sound of her beating heart and soft, now stilted breaths, fogging in the cold.

She had wished for silence so many times and now that she had it she was uncomfortable. Her throat tightened like she was wearing a tight turtleneck sweater. She stared up at the dark tree tops framing a gray sky. It smelled like it was going to rain. She tossed the twig aside. It made no sound.

Her breath fogged but she didn’t feel cold. She was hot, her white nightgown sticking to her skin and sweat moistening her upper lip. She slowly crouched on the ground, keeping to the outer edge of the circle. Her fingertips held down the two pages of the journal.

The incantations were loud and clear in her head, just like her pulse. She felt the words course through her before she began to speak. 

Only the first word left her lips. The candles went out, and even the moon disappeared. Darkness swallowed her tiny body and she could have yelped or screamed but the rest of the words to the incantation were still lingering in her mouth. She gasped as something like vapor slipped inside her mouth, slithered down her throat, and filled her lungs. It grasped her, then in one quick movement pulled out, taking the words, her breath, and almost her courage. 

She opened her eyes and there, sitting across from her at the summoning circle where Dipper should be, was the demon. It had taken a different form but it was the very same, wafting a familiar corrosive scent that made the bile rise in her throat, but also, even more, made her want to cross the distance between them. 

“You came back,” it said knowingly and though it had no mouth, she felt it smile.


End file.
